Harry McCoy and the White Foxling volume 1: The Philosopher's Stone
by theoculouspen
Summary: Another Family lives at #4 Private Drive on the night Harry Potter is left there, he is adopted by the McCoys whose son Hunter has many secrets to hide. HarryxLuna, HermionexOC


**Harry McCoy and the White Foxling**

 **By the Oculus Pen**

 **I**

 **The adoption**

The McCoys, who lived in Ireland were anything but normal and they liked it that way thank you. They lived in a lovely home where all kinds of odd and out-of-the-ordinary things happened from magic to just bizarre in general. There were three people in this family, a man and his wife; who had sadly lost her second child to a miscarriage just three months before and their living son who was the absolute joy of his parents' life. His name was Hunter and at just eighteen months old he had no idea that he would one day be part of the greatest wizarding world war in over one-hundred years and the brother of the hero who would save the world and a hero in his own right. Strange indeed how the simplest things in the world can change the course of the world in irrevocable and unimaginable ways.

Ways, which, more often than not were completely unpredictable. For it was on a seemingly ordinary morning that our story begins, with a young fox running about the meadows around his home. The river lapping nearby him as he made his way to his favorite fishing spots where he dove his head into the freezing water and snapped at a trout. But missed entirely, grabbing a mouthful of frigid water which he spat out and shook his fuzzy head, shaking off the brief disappointment he had at missing his catch and enjoying a good splash in the cold water. He was still too young to swim on his own but being a toddler liked the little water droplets that flew up and tapped him on the nose.

Hunter liked to lick the droplets in midair, he loved the meadow he was in, the outdoor air chilling his warm face. He liked the wildness of the world beneath his hands and he loved magic. But most of all, he loved to run. Foxx was what the wizarding world called metamorphmagus. To be precise he was the type of magical being that could transform specifically into one particular animal at will. This particular magical ability is otherwise referred to as _metamorphmagus animalias_ or the ability to morph into an animal without needing to practice the arts of animagi; being inborn with these abilities was rare and he liked to take full advantage of them. He did not realize how special he was in the scheme of things the same way many of us have our lives ahead of us without really realizing how important we may or may not be in the ultimate picture.

Of course being no more than a year-and-a-half old at the time our young hero did not care about that sort of thing and spent ninety-nine percent of his time in his animal form and fishing but being a toddler he was not very good at them. His mother had named him Hunter, in hopes that he would be masterful at them someday but Hunter however did not use his name, he had just never really cared for it even at that tender age for he was abnormally intelligent. Instead he had always preferred to be called by his middle name since he was a small Halfling and liked to be called, 'Foxx.' Foxx was himself not a bad looking boy, he had snowy hair and deep black eyes, was skinny and quick for his age as the people of his home were apt to be. He was pale and had a moonlight white face that was seemingly shining with cleverness in his eyes that seemed just a little bit devious and not at all endearing at times.

It was the kind of boyish mischief that one might signify as troublemaking if one was not careful. A childlike innocence that was as beguiling as it was adorable and deadly besides because there was almost nothing he could not charm his way out of. As he lapped up some water he barked at a crow in a tree and leapt up to reach toward it but slipped into the river yelping at the shock of the chilly liquid washing over every inch of his body and he scrambled up to the bank and shook off his fur. His ears twitching and eyes narrowing, at a slight rustle in the trees as a butterfly fluttered about and landed on his nose, and fluttered its Halloween-polka-dot wings at him and then hopped off his nose and he watched it with rapt attention.

He liked things that fluttered, they made the chase more interesting for him and his eyes followed it with the joy and impatience of a child. And he bit at it, chomping like a crocodile as a trout taunted him by flipping up in the air like a bloody dolphin and smacking him on the nose with its shiny tail-fin. That was it! He dove in. after it, and caught nothing more than a mouthful of water and came out of the water tail twitching angrily. And he looked about, the meadow now silent and lonely as he splished and splashed about the water trying to find that damnable fish who had dared touch his snout in its own impudence and glared down at the water bitterly with the uneven temperament of the toddler. Anger, childish, anger found his eyes but did not last long for he had no attention span at the time to care for the fish.

His eyes were a brilliant black and keen as a predator's ought to be; for he had the eyes of his breed and a certain madness always lurking in the pit of his eye. form and go fishing for the trout that happened to flop around in the lake. So far, he was not having any luck and sat down scratching himself with his hind leg before shaking his wet face dry and morphing into a young (naked) boy again and grabbed the robes he had hung over a tree-branch and dressed quickly. A big silly grin on his tiny face, he loved to hunt, and fight and he could get out of any bad situation with the flick of his wrist and at this very moment Hunter was in animal form practicing his fishing down at the stream. It was one of his favorite pastimes; to take his animalistic form.

Foxx let out a huge yawn, for it was physically draining to transform into his form and back again but he never stressed such things. He lived to run as and fish and play in the meadow by his stream where he never caught a fish. As his name suggested, he could turn into a fox as he liked when he liked with brilliant snowy fur and little black paws that could move as fast as the wind. He took after his mother that way; she had loved being in her form before she had him and he could see why. He spent hours running with them, chasing the shooting stars and barking at the ravens who nested in the trees. He was just running around with his pack when his mother called back to him to come home to the den.

The sound of the brunch bell exited him and he morphed into fox again before taking a running leap and leaving his shredded clothes behind as he sped back to the home. His mother smiled at him, petting the top of his fuzzy head before bounding up to his room to change quickly. He did so, morphing back into the thin toddler form and dusting off his white hair. His father Finnelly McCoy was sitting there, chewing on a peppermint leaf as was his morning practice while his mother Ivanna cooked up some corned-beef. His favorite breakfast food and he grinned as he made his way down the steps to the kitchen where pleasant sights and smells awaited his enjoyment.

The kitchen of his little Irish home was a charming little room with a crackling blaze into the oval-shaped hearth made of rustic antique bricks and red reclaimed wood. It was the crown jewel of their humble home for his father was neither rich nor was he poor and they made due the best they could with what they had. They were your typical family, father, mother and son and they attended their lives in quiet comfort. His mother was Russian and cooked like it and his father was Irish and had moved his family to Ireland where he had always belonged, but on this particular day things in his orderly life were going to change forever of course Foxx had no way of knowing this as he sat down to his midday meal.

Foxx came in and took off his winter cloak hanging it neatly as he looked about the room and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. It was breakfast time and the carnivore in him was drooling at the smell of steak and corned beef and rashes of fried eggs smothered in lashings of bacon grease. His father took out his wand and summoned his coffee before sitting down and joining them. It was mail time and their hawk-like owl Sabayon flew in and landed neatly. Holding four letters in the pouch attached to his talon which he dropped and then ate a little bit of Foxx's meat. He dropped the letters when Foxx stroked his head and the eleven-year-old handed out the mail. His father looked up at him, deep black eyes keen as he smiled at his wife and family and stood up looking at them.

"Well McCoys…" he began, "we are going to be moving to England on the morrow," he said.

His mother placed a plateful of food before him, full of meat and he wanted to morph into a fox and gobble it down as fast as he could. But he was not allowed to be a fox at the meal-table and so he begrudgingly had to use utensils, his father's announcement made his mother stop dead in her tracks with his milk in her hand. Foxx froze up, before squeaking with delight at the thought of a new place as he banged his little wooden spoon on the table with glee at the thought of an adventure awaiting him but his mother was not so pleased with the idea. She picked up her son and held him close like she feared he would be taken away from her at any time. His father, sipped his tea and waited for her reaction while Hunter continued to bang the table waiting for his drink,

"Leave," Ivanna asked him placing the goblet in front of her son, "but why?"

Finnelly made no answer but gave her a sad quelling look that said it all, the death of the baby had hit him hard and he wanted to get away from it all. Ivanna said nothing but went over and kissed him on the shoulder as she picked her son up, Hunter snuggling close to his mother as they stepped into the fireplace. Hunter squealing, as the ashes went about his nose and eyes, smarting them. She shushed the baby as Finnelly grabbed the last of the white powder and stepped inside with his family. Ivanna heard him mutter something and several moments later they were standing on what appeared to be a muggle street completely surrounded in darkness. Hunter, who did not like the dark squealed in fear and hid in Ivanna's chest whimpering and wanting to feel safe.

"Here, Finn?" she asked in a monogram of disgust, "but it's a muggle neighborhood."

"It's fine, love perfect place to raise the wee thing." He countered.

Her husband then, after kissing her and the boy who was now comfy and reaching for his mother's earrings. Finn kissed her and looked around at all the quaint little homes asking her which one was her favorite before stepping toward the house on the left, with a bright number 4 plastered on the front and three people inside it. Two fat men and one skinny pencil necked woman with a sour face. He rang the doorbell much to his wife's horror, for she never woke people up in the middle of the night because it was simply rude. But he did not seem to care as the three of them got up with an air of irritation about them and he lifted his wand as the fat mustachioed man came to the door with his wife.

"What do you want?" he asked grumpily.

" _Obliviate,"_ he whispered as the green light flashed and the three of them looked confused.

"Where are we," the woman asked and Finn had to smile, pleased with himself.

"In our house please leave." He told her.

"We don't live here?" she asked and Finn shook his head.

"No," he told her.

"Well where do we live? "she asked, turning to her husband, "Vernon where do we live?"

"Right next door," Ivanna told them hiding the white light from her own wand as she implanted the memory.

"Oh right, what were we doing here Petunia," the man called Vernon asked.

"Welcoming us to the neighborhood," he said looking at the name Dursley on the welcome sing above the door, "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, for which we thank you and now bid you goodnight."

The three of them left and went next-door, and Ivanna sent the furniture of the Dursely's out to their "home" while Finn, using an accio charm to summon their things and set up their new home. Ivanna, despite liking the new house as she sat down and began to sew. Finnelly, on the other hand lifted Hunter who was now sleeping on the floor at his feet, to the nursery room where he laid him down and Ivanna came up to tuck him in. Tears in her eyes as she noticed the second bedroom and thought of the son she has never had as she bent down and kissed Hunter on the head and tucked him in. Noticing the lights on the once vacant house where the poor uprooted family now lived because this house had been her favorite of the bunch.

"That was not very nice Finn," she told him pointedly and he grinned at her, "We do not own these people and we tossed them out."

He shrugged in his nonchalant way, "No one got hurt and they do not remember living here so there is nothing to worry about."

"I suppose," she conceded with a sigh and sat down on the couch in the front room as she went about her sewing.

Just as the two of them were about to fall asleep the lights of the street went out and it all became pitch dark. Ivanna looked up and Finn looked as the murmur of voices outside his door. He began to worry and stood up to hear the little boy he had left asleep coming downstairs and sighed, as he lifted his son into his arms feeling someone knock on the door. Ivanna, transforming into her animal form went to the door and, after Finn opened it, saw a baby in a basket on the doorstep. With messy jet-black hair and an odd lightning bolt scar on his forehead. She turned into a human woman again and picked him up with tears in her eyes. He went white, the baby he knew was none other than Harry Potter, the boy who lived.

"How did he get here?" Ivanna asked as she held him close.

Finn did not want to talk about that, his wife was a fragile creature and he had deliberately kept the attack on Godric's Hollow a secret from her. He simply told her, "The boy is an orphan lass."

Her eyes filled up, "Oh poor baby!" she sobbed, "Finn can't we keep him?" she asked.

"No Lass, it says he is to go to the muggles next-door." He told her hating her crushed expression, as she took the letter and read it over.

"No, the letter says to the residence of number four private drive." She smiled, "which is now us so he is now our baby." She told him sternly and took the baby inside saying, "Welcome to the family Harry McCoy…"


End file.
